


statement day

by Amber



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Desk Sex, Do Not Archive, M/M, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Sex during a Statement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 00:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15327837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber/pseuds/Amber
Summary: This, Elias knows, this embrace, the tangible reminder of his physical form and more importantly his humanity, is why Jon agrees to their statement day ritual.-Elias loves scheduling.





	statement day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [rusty_kink meme](https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html) for the prompt:  
>  _Elias/Jon, cockwarming (anal), appreciation._  
>  _Elias enjoys being inside Jon while he's reading statements. But he doesn't want to distract him too much either; his work is very important, after all._
> 
> Standard disclaimer: Please don't link this to the creators. Please don't repost my fic on other websites. Transformative works or quotes with a link are fine and you don't need to tell me or ask permission (but I would love to know!)

It's statement day.

This never used to happen. Jon would read statements all willy-nilly and exhaust himself, or go without for long tracts and Elias would be forced to send them to him so he wouldn't break down. But with the Unknowing passed, Elias has enforced a strict and regular schedule: one from the backlog every week on a Friday, regardless of how many Jon takes in the field.

Jon is already ready when Elias gets back from his morning meeting with Accounts about some errors in the payroll. He locks the door and walks around the table, taking his time to just enjoy the sight his Archivist makes. His trousers are down around his knees, and he's bent forward over Elias' desk, thighs and ass shiny from where he's been fingering himself open. The desk itself is generally empty but for his inbox-outbox trays and sometimes a forgotten mug of coffee; Elias refers neat minimalism when he's not actively working in a space. 

"Good," he says, and Jon shivers: he doesn't seem to care much about his own sexual gratification, but below all that repression and asexuality Elias has discovered a praise kink the width of England itself. "Yes, very good."

Elias unbuckles his own belt and strokes himself hard, soft noises of skin on skin behind Jon. Then without further ado he pushes in, slow and relentless, pressing and pressing despite Jon's clenching and gasping until he's seated root-deep in his Archivist. He rubs a gentle circle at the small of Jon's back, soothing. "Lovely," he says, a hint of a happy sigh to the words — it's been a long week, and he's been looking forward to this.

Then, for a little while, Elias fucks him. Not particularly hard or fast, not even with intent to get off, just splitting Jon open because it's relaxing, and he likes the noises Jon can't suppress. When the stimulation is enough to knot tight behind his balls and Elias starts to make his own wrenched noises over the sound of their bodies colliding, the tape recorder turns on, and Elias laughs breathlessly. Smacks Jon's ass cheek for the joy of it, the sound of his stinging palm, Jon's indignant yelp, the simultaneous tightness around his cock. It's obvious he wants to say something, Elias can feel him biting his tongue, but he must know better by now. That's good too.

"All right," he says, like he's agreeing with something unspoken, and then gathers Jon up and sits back in his desk chair. Jon leans back into it, splayed across his lap; Elias can see the heat at the back of his neck.

"You've been so well-behaved," he says, unable to keep the pride from his voice. When they first started this, Jon had needed to be wrestled into submission, dragged down with both carrot and stick until he succumbed. But a little discipline and he's learned to — well, to be more lovely, as it were, for Elias at least. It truly is amazing what magic a little scheduling has wrought.

Jon is half hard, anal stimulation and Elias' approval apparently enough to get a reaction. Elias takes him in hand, works his fist lightly beneath the head of Jon's cock until he's squirming subtly in Elias' lap. "Are—" Jon tries, voice hoarse and a little waspish. "Are we doing this? I can't read when you're distracting me."

"Oh, of course, my apologies," says Elias pleasantly, and stops, makes himself comfortable instead. Leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, relaxing; his cock is still filling Jon, throbbingly hard, and he's ready to be filled in turn. In his lap, Jon pulls the statement on the desk over. The recorder is already running. (Funnily enough, none of these tapes ever seem to make it into the publicly accessible Archives.)

"Statement of Lillian Ang, regarding the punishment closet at her school in Cheltenham. Statement given 23rd of July, 1973. Recorded by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins."

Elias loves that easy cadence, the way Jon's voice drops for the boilerplate, the way it lifts again into something girlish for the statement. It takes him almost immediately: he's sixteen, a lesbian and a bookworm, in love with a rebellious girl who is frequently disciplined by the staff. One punishment that is a particular favourite of the school's Headmistress is a narrow closet that could easily have stood as inspiration for the Trunchbull's chokey in Dahl's book _Matilda_. It has an unpleasant and horrifying impact on the girls' life— 

But Elias has heard plenty of similar stories. Entombment, entrapment, burial, claustrophobia, white torture, loneliness, the fear of the dark, the steady loss of innocence, all of these elements of fear and torment he already contains within him, along with the multitude of other statements Beholding has collected. They can't touch him — the parts of his humanity necessary to be affected by this story were worn away decades ago. Instead he just listens to the cadence of Jon's reading voice, the steady flow of the words into somewhere deep inside him, sating their master and therefore sating them both. It is a moment of connection between he and Jon that is more intense and vulnerable than any sex they ever have could be.

He's still mostly hard, is Elias, Jon warm and alive around him, insides flexing occasionally, though not deliberately. Jon's own cock is understandably soft when Elias reaches for it — he just wants to play, but it makes the statement come to a grinding halt.

"Could you perhaps manage to keep your hands to yourself?" he asks primly. "I can't be expected to read this with you — _feeling me up_."

"So sorry," laughs Elias, pinching his thigh lightly and withdrawing his hand. "Do go on."

"You're an impossible menace and a terrible distraction," Jon sighs longsufferingly, and Elias just smirks to himself and grinds a slow circle with his hips. "Ugh," says Jon, and, refusing to rise to the bait, returns stubbornly to his reading — and if he bounces just slightly in rhythm with the words of the statement, well it probably serves Elias right.

Eventually: "Statement ends," says Jon, dropping out of the lived experience of poor Lillian and catching his breath. Elias snakes arms around him, holding him against the cold chill of terrible powers, the shadow of the whale that passes beneath their tiny human boat. This, Elias knows, this embrace, the tangible reminder of his physical form and more importantly his humanity, is why Jon agrees to their statement day ritual. The follow up research and conclusions get read aloud slowly, as he grinds back onto Elias's cock. 

"It feels like you're bigger every time," Jon remarks, sounding annoyed by it (Elias is incredibly delighted) and then remembers he's still recording and manages — "Recording ends," abruptly, smacking the tape off. "There. Are you happy?"

It sounds passive aggressive, but Elias knows it's a question Jon genuinely wants an answer to. "So much," he tells him, kissing the back of his neck. "You do such good, important work, and I love to listen to you." He reaches around Jon's hips again. "Good Archivists get a reward, you know."

Jon takes a shaky breath, leaning back into Elias, and he's the one person whose mind Elias can't read but he knows he's thinking that he shouldn't love this as much as he does. Jon is always guilty, especially about sex, and especially about sex with his murdering monster boss. Elias sucks on his earlobe and curls his fingers around Jon's soft cock.

"Come on now," he murmurs. "Relax. It's Friday afternoon. You've managed your statement. You deserve to feel good. Let me make you feel good, Jonathan." He's stroking in time with his words, slow and tight, long pulls to work blood back into the shaft and get Jon hard again. "I know it must be uncomfortable, sitting stretched open like this for so long. Plugged up with me. But I love the way you feel around me. One day I'm going to put you on your knees under this desk and just leave my cock in your mouth all day long."

Jon groans at that, kinky bastard, and tries to move between Elias's hand and his dick, thighs trembling as he tries to strain for friction. "What's that?" Elias asks, amused, "You want to be properly fucked?"

Jon's voice sounds like his teeth are gritted. "Yes, damn you."

"Oh no, we'll need to do better than that," Elias says, and pushes Jon up with surprising strength, forcing him back over the desk. He doesn't press back in, though, just teasing his cock over the crease of Jon's ass, holding him in place with one hand to the back of his neck and another tight at his hip. "What do we say?"

"... Please," spits Jon. "Please fuck me— ah!"

The vocalization is because Elias has sunk in again all at once, bottoming out with a rough noise before starting a brutal place. His expensive shirt will be stuck to his back with sweat before he's finished, the demanding fuck standing in contrast to his earlier lazy movements. He gets a knee up on the desk, over Jon, mounting him, and snarls. "You're mine, Archivist."

"Yes," Jon pants. "Yours, Elias — fuck —" All the horrors of the statement and restless energy are stripped away now, and he's arching under Elias's onslaught, overwhelmed by all these physical sensations making demands of his body, until finally it peaks and his release washes over him. Elias rides him to his own completion, white light bursting behind his eyes, and then finally pulls out and slumps breathlessly back into his chair, panting, recovering, watching Jon do the same. A trickle of come slides down the back of Jon's balls and threatens to drip. Elias thumbs it away, and Jon makes a wounded noise and finally forces himself up.

"Well," he says stiffly, almost immediately awkward. There's nothing to hand to really clean up with, deliberate oversight on Elias' part, so he just pulls his trousers and boxers back up over the mess, to be endured until he can get to a bathroom or get home. They both tuck themselves away, doing up belts, straightening shirts and ties, piecing their professionalism back together.

And here's his favourite part: Jon leans over the chair, as he does every week, and braces one palm on Elias' chest, kisses him lightly on the mouth. "Have a good weekend, Elias," he says, surprisingly soft post-coital. Elias smiles at him.

"And to you, Jonathan," he says, barely waiting until Jon has passed the threshold to pull tissues from his drawer to start to wipe up the mess on his desk. "I'll see you next Friday." In fact, he'll be looking forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, all feedback will be printed out and physically consumed to sustain me.


End file.
